The Longest Engagement
by angelaumbrello
Summary: They met during the war, two people from opposite ends of the world, and they fell in love. And not even an ocean or time could keep them from fulfilling their promises to each other.


**TITLE:The Longest Engagement**

**SHIP: Steve/Natasha **

**RATING: G**

**CHARACTERS: Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Phil Coulson, mentions of Howling Commandos **

**SIDE PAIRINGS: none**

**MAJOR TAGS: WWII, Stalingrad, War-time romance, Mixing/butchering of comic and movie canon**

**ADDITIONAL TAGS: Coulson is a good bro**

**SUMMARY: They met during the war, two people from opposite ends of the world, and they fell in love. And not even an ocean or time could keep them from fulfilling their promises to each other.**

_**The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.**_

_**Ernest Hemingway**_

Natasha smiled to herself before stepping into the observation room. She should have known this was where Coulson would be. Ever since they found Captain America frozen in ice, and realized they could with great care, and patience revive him, the agent had almost literally spent every spare moment here.

"What a complete and utter surprise to find you down here, Phil," she said in a deadpan tone while she took a seat next to him.

He quirked an eyebrow, and gave her a side long glance. "You're one to talk, Natasha. Considering your name is on the visitors' log almost as much as mine."

She chuckled lightly, and stared through the window into the room where Captain America was slowing being thawed. As far as anyone knew she was just a fan-girl visiting her idol. They had no idea that this was not the first time she'd seen Steve. They had no idea that the Russian and American had met during war when they were young, and full of silly romantic notions.

They had no idea that they had fallen love, or that they had made promises for after the war.

"All right, all right, you got me," she finally said.

"So what's your story? I mean, I admit I'm a raving fan-boy, but you? I never took you for a fan-girl."

"Do you see that ribbon around his finger? I gave him that," Natasha said. Her voice was soft and her eyes had a distant look to them. Her hands itched, she so wanted to go in there and touch him, to make sure he was real, that he was alive.

"I met – no I fell in love with him a long, long time ago in what was once Stalingrad. The ribbon was a souvenir, a promise that he would find me after the war, and that we would be together."

Coulson looked at her unblinking for nearly a minute before he was able to get his mouth to work.

"I'd – I'd really to hear that story, if you wouldn't mind telling it."

The redhead laughed at the agent's barely hidden enthusiasm before sitting back in her chair. Coulson scooted closer, his full attention on Natasha.

Stalingrad was a living hell. There were hardly any standing buildings, never mind livable houses. We made our home where ever we could find decent shelter. Dirt accumulated on everyone and everything, and rain was a blessing since it was the only time anyone could get even remotely clean.

And the fighting was chaotic, brutal and bloody. You never knew if the person you woke up next to was going to make it to sunset. There were no nicely organized front-lines, and it went beyond guerrilla warfare. It was sewer rats, and urban booby traps, it was snipers hidden in ruins. But mostly it was desperate people desperately holding on to their land, and to their lives.

It was three months into this nightmare that Captain America, and his commandos showed up. One minute we were barely holding our ground, the next those Nazi bastards were turning tail and running. We knew it was only a brief reprise, but we were grateful all the same, it meant that everyone would live to fight another day.

We were even more grateful to see that they had brought some supplies with them.

"I'm sorry we couldn't bring more," the captain said in perfect Russian, and you could tell that he wasn't just offering lip-service.

"We appreciate any help we can get," my commander said. "But what brings you to this god-forsaken place?"

"There's an artifact, a very powerful artifact, that was rumored to be in the vicinity of Stalingrad." The captain then pulled out official looking papers, and handed them to my commander who looked through them. I had no idea what was written on them, but it caused a crease of worry to appear between his brows. "As you can see, I have permission to be here by your government. If that artifact gets into the wrong hands, it's all over for everyone."

"And what, if anything, do you need from us?"

"A guide, if you could spare someone, who's familiar with the land."

Up until then I had been sitting quietly in the back observing, but at the word volunteer, my hand shot up. I think I may have almost dislocated my arm in my enthusiasm to get what I saw was a respite.

"I will volunteer."

All the men in the room turned to look at me, and my face felt hot under their collective scrutiny. The captain's gaze was particularly intense, as if he could somehow test my mettle just by looking at me. I looked him straight in the eyes, and didn't flinch. If this were a test, I would pass it.

"I'll take her, if you can spare her."

My commander heaved a sigh of resignation, but nodded his head acquiesce. He couldn't spare me, but he knew how stubborn I was. If he didn't give me his blessings, I would find a way to go regardless.

"Aren't you a little young to be a soldier?" he asked later while we walked to his encampment.

"Don't let my youth fool you," I replied. I stared at the ribbon that adorned my ring-finger, the ribbon that served in loo of an engagement ring. "I'm old enough to marry, and be widowed. I'm old enough to fight, and kill, and die if need be. I'm no more a child than you are."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply . . ."

"Don't worry captain. Despite everything I've seen and done, some of the older soldiers still treat me as if I were hapless child. My name is Natalia Alianovna Romanova, by the way. But everyone calls me Natasha."

The captain smiled brightly, and stuck out his hand. It was probably a good thing that I was covered I six layers of dirt, because I was certain from the heat in my cheeks that I was blushing.

"Steven Grant Rogers, but everyone call me Steve when I'm not in uniform."

We shook hands and I swear to God time slowed down as we stared into each others eyes again. But this time was different, this wasn't a staring contest, but something different, deeper. Or at least that was what it felt like until one of his commandos broke in.

"Well, well, well, it looks like our good captain has finally found himself a girlfriend." One of his men, Dum-Dum was his name, came and clapped Steve hard on the back while the other men laughed. They teased him about finally losing his virginity which caused him to turn a deep red that crept to his ears, and down his throat.

We stammered, and pulled away, denied that there was anything between us, we had only just met after all. But there was no denying it: I had a crush on him, and it was most certainly not one-sided.

The upside to them thinking I was Steve's girlfriend was that no one objected to me constantly being by side, or partnering with him on the battlefield. And over the next 10 days we became an effective, deadly team: him with his shield, and me with my guns. HYDRA, the Nazis, or anyone else foolish enough to want that artifact were met with swift defeat at our hands.

But away from the field it was different, we were different. And for a while we could fool ourselves, shed our soldier persona, and just be human.

It all ways struck me as amazing, miraculous even that even in the mist of that hell that was Stalingrad, even as mortar shells exploded, and bullets whizzed by our heads, or were blocked by his shield, we managed to find moments of quiet. Moments when it was just the two of us. And from those quiet moments we fell in love.

It might seem foolish to you, or ridiculously melodramatic to fall in love since in the end we had only known each other for ten days. But there was a war going on, and we were surrounded by death, and mud, and hopelessness, you can hardly blame us for wanting to find some ray of light in all this darkness.

On our last night together we made love, and he was tender, and awkward, and sweet. And afterward he held me tightly and whispered all the things we would do after the war.

_After the war I'll come back and find you. I promise, Natasha. We'll go to New York, and I'll show you were I grew up, and all the places I got the crap beaten out of me before I got this body. _

_After the war you can teach me how to dance. And we'll go dancing every weekend, and we'll be the best looking couple there._

_After the war I'll marry you. We'll buy a house in the suburbs with the white picket fence, and we'll have dogs and children, and we'll put this war to rest. All this darkness, and death will be but a distant memory._

Before he left, I gave him the ribbon so he would have something to remember me by, and so that he would know that I was waiting for him to come back to me.

But he never did. I found out later that he was lost at sea, and presumed dead. And as the years went by I realized it was futile to hope that he some how survived. It was futile and stupid to think that one day he would walk into the city, and keep his promise.

But perhaps the fates aren't quite as cruel as I once thought.

Steve felt as if he were swimming through tar while being weighed down by large stones. There was silence, and inky blackness all around him, and he felt disembodied. But there was light up ahead, so he swam to it knowing instinctively that he had to reach it or else he would die.

When he broke through it was with a strangled gasp as all of a sudden he was being bombarded with sights and sounds and smells.

"Easy Steve," he heard a woman's voice say. There were gentle, but firm hands on his shoulders providing an anchor for him.

He couldn't help but think the voice was familiar.

He looked and blinked, and looked and blinked, the woman was so achingly familiar.

"Don't tell me you don't recognize your own fiance?" the redhead chided.

"Na-Natasha? Is that really you? I really made it?" Steve said. He pulled her close, and peppered her face and neck with kisses for several minutes. He couldn't believe it, he thought he was going to die on that plane. That he was going to make the ultimate sacrifice and never see his beautiful Russian again. "You can hardly blame me for not recognizing you, you're not covered in dirt and mud."

"Jerk," she muttered. But she held him tight, and buried her face in chest clawing his back so he couldn't escape. For nearly 70 years she waited for this reunion, she was not going to let him leave her side ever again. And she was not going to ruin the moment by crying.

But despite her efforts, he could sense something was out of sync. The room they were in felt fake, sterile like they were on some kind of set constructed for his benefit. Even the baseball game playing on the radio in the background was off, he had been there with Bucky.

"How long was I unconscious for?" he asked slowly, carefully, thinking he may not like the answer.

"Too long," Natasha said in a thick voice. "Too damn long. I missed you so much, I missed you so damn much. I thought you had left me forever."

"Never, I'll never leave you. I made you promises, and I intend to keep every single one of them."

Later when his body was healed, and his mind got over its shock at being in the future, they would indeed fulfill all their promises for after the war.

END


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